


Chapter 58 (cont.)

by cbstrike



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, First Time, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Sex, Introspection, Light Angst, Making Love, Mutual Masturbation, Playful Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Troubled Blood, Romance, horny dumdums, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbstrike/pseuds/cbstrike
Summary: There was a moment where Cormoran, Robin, and Robert Galbraith knew our two favorite dummies were seconds away from having sex. This is that sex.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 48
Kudos: 151





	Chapter 58 (cont.)

_Now_ , breathed the flickering demon the whisky had unleashed, and like Robin a few minutes previously, Strike was conscious that they were sitting mere feet from a double bed.

“I’ve got another,” Cormoran pointed at the sodden ice pack Robin had discarded on the table, his heart thumping so hard he could feel it in his throat. “Upstairs.”

Robin didn’t need another ice pack, her face numbed cool by the first one she’d used. The rest of her body suddenly felt hot, though. On tenterhooks and unsure if she had just been asked what she thought she’d been asked.

What if he didn’t mean what she thought he meant? What if she makes a clear, undeniable move and that hadn’t been his intention at all? But it also registered with her that despite the qualms she possessed over how a tangible, different direction to their relationship with each other could affect the work, she _wants_ him to say something else. _Say something else, Cormoran. Say more things._

“D’you want something else?” Cormoran offered excessively, as though he’d read her mind. “Vodka? Beer? Dessert?”

He didn’t mean anything by it, genuinely just wanted to offer anything he could offer her, being the cause of her injury tonight, but the word dessert had made Robin guffaw unexpectedly, which made her face throb as though someone was trying to pull the flesh off her skull.

“Ah,” she complained, gentle hand over her face to fight through the acute pain.

“Shit, sorry.” Cormoran inexplicably apologised as he lurched, trying to see if she was suddenly bleeding again.

“Okay, yeah.” said Robin, grabbing for the ice pack that was now more mildly cold goo than ice. “I think I do need another one.”

She stood up from Pat’s chair, unseeingly walking, feeling Cormoran’s hands firm on her shoulder, leading her to the door. “And maybe some paracetamol.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some.” said Cormoran. Closing the door to the office and leading her up to his flat. If either of them were hoping, expecting the night to lead them together deliberately within spitting distance of a bed, they certainly didn’t expect for it to include pain and injury.

Robin was, in fact, back to a little annoyed now knowing her throbbing face could’ve been prevented. Cormoran, for his part, was feeling so sorry and guilty, he mentally chastised himself when he enjoyed having to hold Robin securely by the waist as she walked up the tricky metal staircase, half-blind, in pain, tipsy, and wearing heels.

He sat her on his small couch, taking paracetamol, then water and ice pack from his refrigerator before sitting closely next to her. Being that he’s never had anyone else besides himself sat on this couch, he only now realised how small it was.

Robin sighed after taking the pain meds and downing it with a lot of water. She leaned against the sofa’s backrest. Cormoran handed her the ice pack and she put it gently on her still smarting face. “Thanks.”

Comfortably slumped against the sofa, Cormoran so large next to her that her entire side was pressed against his, and the ice pack and pain killers finally kicking in, Robin only felt tired.

“D’you want me to take you home?” Cormoran offered again. He feels so racked with guilt that Robin is in pain that the possibility of anything more or anything else was now the furthest thing from his mind.

Robin thought again of Max and how he’d want some explanation as to why she’d come home with two black eyes and how little she wants to recount the night again that she’s still living.

“Maybe later.” she said, letting the comfort of cushions and drink and ice and pain killers and Cormoran next to her to envelope her for a little while longer. She opened an eye. Straight ahead, behind a door slightly left ajar, looked to be a neat bed.

Cormoran hadn’t shifted from his uncomfortable position on the couch, sure that Robin wasn’t entirely aware that she was leaning against him. He did not want her to move away.

The ice pack was finally too cold on her numb face and she put it down on the coffee table. Her eyes roamed around his flat now, small but clean and tidy. There’s even a house plant in the corner that seems to be thriving. She didn’t know why, but the sight of it made her smile, and then wince. _Ow._

“I can fetch the whisky,” Cormoran suggested because he didn’t know what else to do or say or offer.

“No,” she squeezed his thick wrist before realising what she’d done. She wanted him to stay put. She withdrew her hand and shifted to give him more space. “I don’t want to drink anymore.”

“Okay.” said Cormoran, wrist tingling where she touched him. Her eyes were now on the television. “Do you want me to turn on the telly?” he heard the breath of a mild laugh, and then a groan of complaint for the pain. Guilt throbbed within him every time it happened.

He shifted, positioning his head right in front of hers, trying to see if he hadn’t actually broken her nose. “I really think we ought to go to casualty.” he suggested.

Robin rolled her eyes, and even that had a twinge. “Just don’t make me laugh.” she muttered grumpily, feeling now the opposite of ever wanting to laugh or smile anymore.

But Cormoran hadn’t shifted away, staring at Robin’s face as though truly seeing it for the first time. Their faces have, on occasion, been close to each other before, but Cormoran usually tried to avert his eyes. As though looking directly at her face and for too long would be a bad idea. Like staring directly into the sun.

But now, in genuinely examining Robin’s injury, he saw too how the darkening of her eyes and the slight swell of the bridge of her nose did not touch her pre-Raphaelite beauty, the soft kindness emanating from her features.

Robin could feel Cormoran’s breath on her face, smelling of whisky and smoke. He was looking at her with weary, even searching eyes, and from this close she could see the lines around them, the freckles peppering his cheeks, and drink was pulling her down into comforting thoughts of how much she liked the look of him. It was whisky, Robin would later insist, and yes, endearment for his concern, and perhaps curiosity to feel the stubble on his cheek, that made her just then, quite suddenly, put her hand on his face.

Cormoran jumped, surprised at the contact, thinking for a split-second he had just been slapped. But Robin hadn’t removed her hand. He could feel her fingers gently running through his stubble and then he was driven to close his eyes slowly to her touch and only thought of tenderness and how long it had been since he received any.

He opened his eyes again, his gaze falling to her slightly gaping mouth, anticipating now an inevitability, his mind going blank of any previous misgiving, replaced with only whisky-soaked affection and desire.

Robin groaned with pain before their lips even touched, Cormoran’s nose had pressed painfully against hers and Robin’s hand flew from his cheek to his chest, holding him at bay.

“Shit, Robin. Sorry—” Cormoran apologised, unsure if it was for this renewed pain he caused or that he had very dared. Despite knowing everything on the line, he very dared.

“No,” she said, hand clutching a little at his chest, the other back over her eyes. “Just—”

Neither of them moved. Cormoran unsure what will happen next, Robin just waiting for the throbbing to abate. Her hands were again, back to cupping Cormoran’s cheek, clear in her intention that whatever it was that was going to happen tonight, be it a kiss or sex or the start of something, she was determined for it to happen.

Cormoran then put his heavy arm over Robin’s shoulder, pulling her closer to him, trying to steady his breathing that he realised was a little shaky. Robin removed the hand over her eyes then, sighing softly as Cormoran kissed gently at her temple, then at her cheek.

They hugged, thinking similarly how good it was to find this. Each other. A friendship and partnership that was so right, that means so much. For the first time wondering if they hadn’t spent most of their love on the wrong people, if perhaps they both still had the capacity to do it all over again.

Robin pulled away, angling her face carefully and slowly so she doesn’t put too much pressure on her still smarting nose.

Cormoran uttered a low groan of pleasure at the feel of Robin’s open mouth over his, thinking wildly that the easy comfort of solitude and freedom were small prices to pay for even just this first kiss.

It was wet and audible in the quiet room and tasted a little of curry, but it was also gentle and slow and surprisingly soft and making Robin feel as though the pain from her face and the unhappiness she’d been feeling was melting away. It’s just so nice to feel this way when she never thought she would again, nice that the feelings she’d kept locked in tight wasn’t one-sided and, in fact, returned.

Cormoran pulled away, face still close to hers. “Still in pain?” he asked, his clear timbre breaking the soft, hazy silence in the flat. It wasn’t until he wiped the wetness in her cheeks did Robin realise she was crying.

“Not too bad,” she said, not wanting to reveal what it had been that brought her to tears. She wiped them off herself now, Cormoran patting his coat and trousers to find a handkerchief. He handed it to her and she wiped her cheeks.

She looked at the handkerchief, a tiny embroidery at the corner. “It’s a robin.” she said, surprised by this.

Cormoran gave a small smile, “Yeah.” gently moving Robin’s hair away from her face. It was one of Ilsa’s non-too-subtle gifts that he will never admit to the giver he appreciated and enjoyed.

They stared at each other. Cormoran finding Robin beautiful even in tears, cheeks flushed and lips well-kissed. Robin cupped his face again with both hands, running her thumb against his lower lip, removing the ghost of her lip gloss that had tacked onto his face. She moved to bring their faces close together again, to kiss him again, feeling his large hands stroking up and down her back.

They pulled away, Robin bending to take off her heels and Cormoran shook off his suit jacket, mutually answering the question burning in their minds of where the night was heading.

Well, it was clear now.

They stood up, Cormoran’s hand on Robin’s hips. Robin wrapping her arms around Cormoran’s neck and tilting up for another kiss. It was a far better angle, Robin found, as she opened her mouth to Cormoran’s tongue and pressed their faces together no problem.

It was growing deeper, more urgent, and if not for the need to breathe, they might not have parted. They disentangled noisily, panting a little to catch their breaths, Cormoran emitting shaky chuckles realising how surprising and incredible this day was turning out to be. He made some quick calculations in his head, of alcohol ingested and ruled that it was just enough to make this happen, but not too much for it to be a bad idea.

Robin took his hand, and with fingers lightly holding on to each other, she led them to his bedroom. She had peeked into it before, during past occasions where she had to wake him up, but she was a little surprised that it was smaller than she recalled. Dominated by a double bed with tables on each side, with only a wardrobe and dresser lined along one wall. There were creams on top of the dresser, almost as many as she had on her vanity. A lamp and _The Demon of Paradise Park_ on the end table closest to her with Talbot’s ‘true book’ right below it.

Something about the case suddenly crossed her mind, dissolving when Cormoran’s large hands squeezed at her shoulders. She stretched her neck into it, and was rewarded with his mouth against her neck. She sighed at the sensation, at Cormoran’s squeezing of her back muscles. She had half a mind to request for him to keep going but also didn’t want to disrupt their momentum.

Robin was starting to feel the embers of arousal, wanting to be kissed and touched by Cormoran everywhere she pleased. His hands were all over her and she realised with a painful laugh he was groping for the zip.

“What’s wrong?” Cormoran asked, mouth off her, hand stilling at her nape.

It’s so inconvenient to not be allowed to smile when that’s all she wants to do.

“It’s here,” she said hand to her side as she pulled her zip down.

“Oh,” said Cormoran, mildly embarrassed that he had missed it. She turned around, shaking off her dress and felt it pooling at her feet as she cupped Cormoran’s face again for more kissing. She frankly couldn’t get enough. He pulled away and stared down her half-naked body.

“Jesus,” he uttered, taking his fill of Robin’s perfect body in nude lace bra and knickers that left little to the imagination. Four years looking resolutely away whenever she bent over and now this. If there was ever an example of the virtues of delayed gratification, this would be it.

The look of desire on Cormoran’s expression brought another involuntary smile and then twinge on Robin’s face.

She put her thin fingers on his belt buckle and Cormoran could feel himself hardening even at that. He always loved that first move, that sight of hands on his belt buckle. He ran his palms up and down Robin’s arms, appreciating being permitted now to touch and look at her pert body. He knew she’d be perfect, obviously, but visual evidence is always better than intelligent guesswork.

He couldn’t help himself just then, bending to kiss the skin where shoulder met neck, his large and hairy arms around her small waist, breathing her in. She smelled of soap and whisky and a little of cigarette smoke, and pleasure surged at the thought—that they’d been close enough for long enough that she smelled a bit of him, too.

Robin moved from Cormoran’s belt buckle to wrap her arms around his body, her fingers barely meeting each other on his broad backside, he was so wide. But she likes this, holding him. Savouring how permissible it now was to hug him for however long she wanted.

Robin kissed the skin beneath his ear before pulling away, unbuttoning his shirt to touch and kiss more skin. The side of her mouth curled up into the slight smile she could muster without making her nose throb. Cormoran’s hands still splayed on the small of her back, watching her unbuttoning his shirt with what Robin thought was naked desire on his features.

It wasn’t intimidating at all, because she wanted him at that moment to look at her like that.

He bent to kiss her gently, carefully. Just one chaste kiss, just because. And Robin felt her stomach do a flip at that. As though that had been the first, as though their mouths hadn’t been more together than apart these last thirty minutes.

She stepped back as she tugged his belt off his trouser hoops, and Cormoran pulled his button-down from its tuck. He had to suck in his gut a bit to get at the top button and saw the smirk Robin barely successfully suppressed.

He grinned, amused at her reaction. He wasn’t self-conscious about his looks, not when he’s gotten far enough with a woman that clothes were being chucked off. But even so, seeing Robin staring at him, light eyes blown dark now with desire, it was nevertheless gratifying. She was physically stunning. Not too thin. Curves in the right places. And this divine, angelic specimen of the female form chose him.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded, voice husky, head jerking for his mattress.

Robin grinned and if her face throbbed, it was only slightly. She laid on the bed, unable to stop the satisfied groan at how comfortable it was to lay on a made bed after a long, eventful day.

Robin was stretching, luminous against his dark sheets. He supposed she wasn’t doing it on purpose, getting him going and giving him a show, but it was speeding up Cormoran’s overexcitement anyway. He was then suddenly very aware that he was in the midst of a self-imposed dry spell since his last relationship. He hoped he’d at least last long enough to do what needs doing.

Laying on a strange bed in a strange room in her underwear, watching Cormoran disrobe, staring quite intently at her, it finally impressed upon Robin two crucial things: that she was about to have sex with a second person ever, and that Cormoran is a large man. Tall, but also wide. There’s just so much of him, she thought. Hairy, too. Like a bear.

She didn’t think she was nervous, really. She was mostly now just trying to stay awake, his bed is so comfy and she’s more knackered than she thought she was. But her gaze fell to his tenting boxers and appreciated the novelty of her current situation. How do other women do it, she wondered, sleeping with someone new for the first time? Do they also feel a touch of anxiety with the arousal?

Cormoran sat on the side of the bed when he was down to boxers and undershirt, back to Robin as he unstrapped his prosthesis.

Robin hopped off the bed and Cormoran saw her pristine derriere as she headed for the top of his dresser. “D’you need anything for it?” she asked, picking up some creams, curiously reading the labels. If it were anyone else, Cormoran would find that sort of forwardness off-putting, but on Robin he just thought it kind.

“I’ll put them on after,” he said, feeling suddenly self-conscious at his clear implication. _After the sex._ Robin understood as much, a wave of mingled anxiety and excitement enveloping her. She was suddenly feeling very hot.

“Come back here.” Cormoran urged, stretching his arm out to grab at her and she held out her hand and allowed him to pull her closer, standing in front of him as he sat at the edge of the bed. Cormoran lost no time burying his face between her breasts, groaning as he felt pillowed by her soft, smooth skin.

Robin unhooked her bra and shook the straps off her shoulders, not wanting any yanking to ruin the fabric. Cormoran groaned low again at the sight of Robin’s breasts, pert and perfect like the rest of her.

Her breath hitched in a surprised gasp as his mouth closed around a nipple and Cormoran let it go with a wet, lewd pop. “Not good?”

“No,” Robin breathed, feeling shaky from drink and arousal and the realisation that if there was a line, her business partner’s mouth on her tit has certainly crossed it. “It’s good.”

He grinned up at her, a handsome thing she thought, and she ran her fingers through his soft curly hair as he put his mouth around her other nipple. She grabbed a fistful of his undershirt, trying to tug it off, Cormoran grunting displeasure at having to part from her skin when Robin pulled it over his head.

Robin was only letting out soft, audible sighs, mouth slack now, enjoying the tingling at just having Cormoran’s soft lips suckling at her breasts, surprised at how intense even this now felt. This never did much for her before. Is it because it’s been ages since the last time she’d had sex? Is it because it’s finally Cormoran touching her like this?

He continued making gentle work of Robin’s breasts with his mouth. _Jesus, she_ ’ _s perfect_ , he thinks non-stop. He thinks, too, that it’s Robin. _Holy fuck, it_ ’ _s Robin._

He moves off her now hardened nipples, kissing slowly down her flat stomach, wet, sloppy, loud kisses that cooled Robin’s skin as Cormoran moves away, sensations adding to the pressure now pooling at her core. Her hands caressing Cormoran’s large head, taking a deep inhale, deep exhale as though she was trying to calm herself, not sure if the involuntary canting of her hips to him was her doing or his as he gripped at her hip.

He looked up at her face, his features deeply familiar to her but his expression entirely new. And even her own desires were taking her for a surprise, thinking for the first time ever in her life the wanton desperation of his mouth to her core.

His lips curl to a smug smile, fingers hooking inside the waistband of her knickers as though reading her mind, not breaking eye contact, about to peel it down when she felt a gust of wind, the places Cormoran had kissed on her skin suddenly sharply cold.

Cormoran heard the discomfort in her soft grunt, “You okay?” he asked, hands stilling at her hip.

She smiled down at him, holding his face in both hands, finding him so sweet it was almost unbearable, almost apologetically saying, “I’m cold.”

“Oh,” he said, hand off her. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. It gets drafty in here.” he felt almost embarrassed that this was the best he could offer, wildly thinking maybe he should’ve taken her to The Ritz.

She bent to kiss him and he felt reassured, before twisting away from between his knees and walking, arms crossed over her chest to the other side of the bed. He wondered if she did that because she was shy, and wondered next why he liked thinking that she might be.

He pulled off his boxers, getting under the covers with her.

They laid side by side, looking at each other, Cormoran rubbing up Robin’s arm to warm her up. She was waiting for the anxiety to creep in, for the stark realisation that this is not one of her smarter decisions. But nothing. Just calm. She enjoys being alone with Cormoran so much. And this realisation is what finally shocked her, because she doesn’t like to be alone with men whose proximity was always inevitably laden with attention to her body that she does not want.

She presses her body closer to him, hand over his side, lips to his. He chases after her when she pulls away, deepening, her hands rubbing up and down his back and sighing in his embrace. She could do this forever.

Cormoran isn’t used to luxurious and slow, enjoying a kind of sex that was quite separate to those other things that he considered were far messier than entwined limbs and bodily fluids. But this he liked. A sensual unraveling that felt to him like stepping into a hot bath after an exhausting day.

He put a palm to the side of her head thumbing at her temple, realising he had never yet told her she was beautiful, which was almost ridiculous because it was as plain a fact as her having strawberry-blonde hair and blue-gray eyes.

“You’re beautiful.”

Robin had been called beautiful all her life, but nevertheless felt enchanted to hear him say it.

“With my busted face?” she joked, looking away from him, feeling just then, too much.

He groaned, burying his face against her neck. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against her skin. “I’m sorry.”

Robin pursed her lips, fighting the urge to grin the widest she’s ever grinned, her stomach flipflopping at his amorousness. Where had this Cormoran been hiding the last four years? _Under his clothes_ , she thought naughtily to herself, making herself chuckle and then of course wince.

“Will you ever let me live it down?” Cormoran asked, looking at her with another expression on his face she’d never seen—not faraway from puppy dog eyes she’d never been able to resist on actual puppies.

“Not tonight!” she retorted, enjoying this intimate playfulness she’d never ever imagine in a million years she’d share with Cormoran Strike.

He kissed at her cheek. “Let me,” he said, kissing her neck. “Make,” mouth to her clavicle. “Reparations.” palm now on a breast, his gentle squeezing making her gasp.

“Lie back,” he urged, kissing her chest. She does so, but grunts in a way that told him to stop. “No?” he confirms. Robin considers this, tips of her fingers running softly around his earlobe. Would it be too much to reveal that she enjoys the press of his body against hers? To feel a kind of literal, physical closeness to him that she’d been deprived of for years? Even over the likelihood of an earth-shattering orgasm from his soft, skilled mouth? Yes, she decides. Too much.

But then she says, “Maybe next time.” Before she could stop herself. But then he grinned and there it was again, her stomach flipflopping at his naked delight over the concept of next times.

It was unusual for women to decline, Cormoran thought as he laid back next to Robin, but he thought he much preferred this kind of closeness anyway. And she had said next time, and the prospect of it didn’t fill him with anxiety over commitments or the agency or all the other bullshit he’d been using as shield to deprive himself of precisely this: Robin in his arms like this. He only felt excited.

He hissed as he felt Robin’s sudden first touch on his cock, cold fingers wrapping around his girth.

“Sorry!” she said, pulling away immediately.

“It’s okay,” he smiled, chuckling as Robin rather vigorously rubbed her palms together. She was suppressing her own laughter, trying not to make her face throb. She put her now warm hands on the sides of his face, giving him a little squish. “Still cold?”

Cormoran shook his head, Robin kissed him again and then said rather matter-of-factly, “Do you have lube?”

Cormoran grinned, amazed that for however bad they were at communicating about personal things (okay, mostly him), sex might not be part of that. And Cormoran also had a preference for women who were communicative—even on the side of loud—in bed. Everyone likes a good review, after all.

He hovered over Robin, reaching to dig around the bedside table on her side and pulled a bottle he’d procured when he moved in, thinking then that he was going to get a lot more action in his renewed bachelorhood than what actually transpired. He squinted at the unopened bottle.

“Do these things expire?”

Robin suddenly twisted away from him, hand flying to her face, whining as though suddenly sobbing. It took Cormoran by surprise, the bottle flying out of his hand and landing somewhere on the bed. “Wuzz wrong?” he asked suddenly, trying to get her to lay on her back again so he could see her face.

“Stop making me laugh!” she complained, chest shaking with laughter she was trying so hard to surpress.

“I’m not trying to!” Cormoran retorted laughing with relief. Now over her, her neck arching and exposed, he bent to kiss it. “I’m sorry,” he murmured once again into her neck. “I’m sorry.”

On balance, powering through despite her face bothering her was not one of Robin’s brightest ideas, but also there was something very pleasing and erotic about Cormoran’s record-breaking number of ‘sorry’s tonight. She would ordinarily unpack that, but Cormoran was being distracting, large arm cradling her to him softly as he left soft kisses on her cheek that was only making her grin more.

They stopped, lying next to each other as both waited for the fresh wave of pain on Robin’s face to subside. He was on his side again, trailing the tips of his fingers down Robin’s exquisite skin, knowing he really ought to offer Robin an out. He didn’t want to, of course he didn’t want to. He wanted to do everything, feel everything, touch everywhere until he’s mastered Robin’s body like he’s mastered the streets of London.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” Cormoran suggested anyway.

“I’m okay.” Robin repeated with a touch of annoyance, enjoying the feel of Cormoran’s thick chest hair in her fingers. “It really is getting better.”

She nipped at his mouth and the press of their noses were no longer painful. She reached between them and Cormoran thought she was about to touch him again until her hand was back up from under the covers now holding the unopened bottle of lube. She too squinted at it and Cormoran found her adorable.

She laughed. ( _Ow._ ) “This expired well over a year ago!” she informed him. He grabbed for the bottle and chucked it over Robin letting out a “Ha!” when it clattered into the waste bin at first try.

They made out for awhile, Cormoran’s large palms caressing her body, squeezing her breasts, sliding down her torso, the tip of his index finger just dipping inside the waistband of her knickers.

“This okay?” he asked, and she liked so much that he was asking.

Robin thrusted her hips up a little to pull her knickers down herself and Cormoran smiled against her mouth, finding her utterly exquisite, trying not to be too stunned as a wave of realisation once again hit him that this is Robin right now on his bed, naked and squirming. Robin.

He was purposely teasing, blunt tips of his fingers slowly raking themselves over her thighs, dipping to brush lightly at her inner thighs, making her jerk at the sensation.

“Are you gonna touch me or what?” Robin asked, eyes blown dark, mouth agape, breathing heavily as she stared hungrily at his mouth. When she kissed him, he took it as cue, middle finger brushing softly against her clit. Robin moaned against Cormoran’s mouth, hips bucking at the sudden sensation, thinking again of lines and how far they’ve crossed. The events at the American Bar, so long ago it was ancient history or perhaps an entire past life ago. A version of him and her who don’t yet know the joy and ecstasy they were destined for in each other’s hands. What fools, they were, she thought. She didn’t envy them, not when she was luxuriating in Cormoran’s expert fingers rubbing at her clit as though he’d always know how.

Pleasure was now mounting, so high, she could no longer return his kisses, laying back and shaking at his ministrations, hips gyrating to increase the pleasure he was giving her. “Oh, oh,” she stuttered softly, knowing full well she will come at even just this sustained gentility. How long has it been since she’d been pleasured, without the pressure of knowing she’d somehow have to repay this kindness? Never, she thought. Never ever.

Cormoran grunts at the sudden feel of Robin’s fingers rubbing at the head of his cock. It wasn’t the base to tip pumping he needs, but he bucks into the sensation anyway. She spreads the droplets that had pooled, adding to the pleasure. She wraps her hand now around him, and he’s thrusting into her hand more than she’s able to move her hand but he feels gratified that he was doing far too well for her to get a good grip.

She looked up, eyes to his, whole body quivering the closer she got and he thought he’d never seen anything more erotic until she let out an “Ah,” eyes rolling up in ecstasy as she came.

She felt electrified as though still on the precipice of another orgasm, but pushed Cormoran’s hand away for a moment, over-sensitive. Cormoran wrapped his hand wet of Robin around his cock, unable to help his tugging and bucking at the pleasurable and slick slide. He angled his face to press tight against hers, mouth opening to devour her in a messy, obscene kiss that had them groaning in each other’s mouths.

If Robin’s face was supposed to hurt, she couldn’t feel it. Her body aflame now only with arousal and need.

Cormoran finally moved, releasing himself as he hovered on top of her, cock large and leaking against her stomach. He’s rocking up, unable to help it, grunting at the pleasure of even a slight brush against her skin. “Fuck,” he groaned, eyes on Robin’s red face, mouth slack, sides of her perfect lips wet from their messy kissing. And his thoughts are baser now, more man, instincts urging for that primal joining.

He out stretched his large arm, digging blindly in his side table, making a racket as he can’t seem to grope for condoms as he ground against Robin. He felt a wetter slide as she moved beneath him to slot him in place against her.

She gave a shaky whine, hips now jerking, the head of Cormoran’s cock sliding perfectly against her clit. “Oh,” she was crying softly, finding a rhythm, in disbelief over her own body’s reactions, surprised that she was at all capable of this kind of want.

She wants to come again, she thinks, getting closer as her palm now pressed his cock down to slide harder and better against her folds.

“Robin, fuck!” Cormoran grunts, hips bucking dangerously, dangerously close himself. He wants so bad to give in, the look on Robin’s face telling him she, too, was about to topple over the edge.

But being so near to a culmination, a consummation, a complete consumption, he thought it almost imperative that they manage to go all the way. He stops his grinding, hips falling on hers, pinning her still bucking hips to the bed. And she sobs in shaky frustration, face as though genuinely about to cry.

“I know, baby.” Cormoran whispers huskily, mouth dry, the endearment tumbling out as naturally as the slide of two naked bodies, panting just as shakily, kissing her hard on the mouth, Robins’s arm was flailing blind with him by the drawer, Cormoran feeling her fingers groping next to his for that goddamn rubber.

She of course gets to it first, and he takes it from her hand, pulling himself to sit on hindlegs, finally putting it on.

Her whiny, needy sobs would be the death of him, he was sure, thumb gently circling her clit as he finally lines himself up at her entrance.

The first blunt press of him against her and she thinks he might be too big. Hand to his chest, eeking a breathy request. “Slow—”

He nods as he presses in. Unable to help an elongated “Ugh,” at the otherworldly pleasure of Robin around him so bloody tight and wet and hot. He hovers over her again, sinking almost too slowly, it was excruciating.

“Fu-uck,” he uttered in Robin’s ear, pelvis slowly grinding against hers once he bottomed out, both settling into the sensations of being joined. He makes shallow movements, Robin letting out soft whines.

“Good?” he asks, large hand cupping her face now flushed a shade of red he’d never seen on her face befor.e She nods, breathing heavily, eyes cast down to the place they are joined. “Yeah.”

“You okay?” he had to ask, worried she was a little hard to read. Her eyes shift to his at last, slack mouth curling to a mild smile. “Are you okay?” she breathed back.

It was overwhelming, the stretch of him, the length of him, filling her unlike she’d ever experienced before. But more than that, she considers, gentle fingers swiping his hair by his ear, the complete awareness that inside of her now, on top of her now was her partner, her best mate. _Cormoran._

Cormoran looked at Robin’s face, just looked at it, taking his fill. Her darkened bruises morphing away now to how he’d always seen her. Beautiful, sure, but mostly kind. He thinks now, buried so gloriously inside her, how lucky he is. Because of her. Robin crashing into his life when she did, becoming the greatest friend of his life, the partner that brings genuine joy to his vocation. What are the blooming odds that he’d find everything, literally everything he could ever wish for in one person?

He bent to kiss her, softly, hand on Robin’s thighs to coax her legs around him. She groans against his mouth at how deep he suddenly felt inside of her, then breathily sighs as he slowly pulls out almost all the way before thrusting back in again in a long, slow slide.

He thrusts in that gentle rhythm, savouring the sweet sensation of Robin tight around him, Robin’s limbs cradling him, fingertips running broadly up and down his back. How long has it been since he’s experienced this, granted and wanted connection over gratification? Never, he thinks. Never ever.

There is pleasure now for her, a slow steady build as her hips met his slow thrusts. And another feeling, too, heavier, bigger, scarier as her vision only filled with Cormoran’s face hovering over her in concentration. It is love that she feels, but does not name it, thinking instead how she likes him so, so much. And she withdraws her arms from around his back to pull his face to her again. And he grunts as he thrusts fully inside. And she feels the tender delight of his soft lips to hers even better than all the other sensations overwhelming her body.

The breadth of him was unlike she’d ever known, the weight of him on her, the sensation of his chest hair on her breasts, the stretch of his cock the grind of him against her clit. All so new, so new.

He presses his body against her, chest to chest, and she wraps her arms around his neck and he cants his hips, mouth to her neck, subsumed by her perfect skin, the smell of sex and whisky and sweat and smoke. This is bliss, he thinks. Sublimity. Love made. _Love_.

Cormoran was never the sort to pray, or wish, or even want, allowing himself only what he is given, but as he looked into Robin’s face, as he took in her perfect body, open and gentle and tender to him,he hoped for nothing else in his life from that point on to be allowed to keep her. _Let me keep her,_ he thinks to nothing in particular. _Let me have this._

His rhythm picks up, both grunting now in unison from the pleasure they were building.

“Corm—” she stutters in a half-plea and he thrusts even quicker at that.

“Fuck,” he grunts, feeling the tightening in his cock, his hips now bucking in a quick, involuntary rhythm. “Rob—”

She’s so close, _fuck_ she’s so close, fingers digging to the flesh of his arse, gyrating to get the friction that she needs. Clenching, toes curling— “Oh god,” she sobs feeling the terrifying exhilaration of slipping from the very top of a staircase, but instead of pain and death there is only her reality shattering into an explosion of pleasure never before reached.

She is still shaking and sobbing from her release, hearing Cormoran’s ferocious grunt, feeling his body slump weakly on her, face buried against the mattress by her head, trembling as he too came. And Robin wrapped her arms weakly around him, tingling still in the aftermath, feeling the last of his thrusts that slowed finally to a halt.

Cormoran lifted his head to press his face against Robin, too breathless just then even for a kiss. He hoped it didn’t hurt her because he was yet unwilling to depart. He felt her fingertips pleasurably running through his hair, and he imagined his body like one of those plasma globes, jolts of electricity where he met Robin’s skin.

Cormoran kissed Robin when he finally found his bearings, pulling out of her and grunting as he fell back next to her, turning away for a second to deal with the condom. He looked over at Robin, whose hands were once again over her face. “You okay?” he asked, worried now that she might not be.

She nodded, breathing slowly, and not the sort where she’s catching her breath from physical exertion.

Robin thought Cormoran had been too heavy, but far from needing distance and a wide open space to better breathe, Robin all of a sudden couldn’t bear not being held, pulling at Cormoran’s arm and hurriedly pressing against him, who in turn lost no time wrapping his large arms around her, pressing her against his chest.

The gentle squeeze of Cormoran’s arms had done it, and with the same force she was exerting to temper her emotions, she was feeling it all now being wrenched out of her in a violent gush of open sobbing.

Against Cormoran’s chest and in his strong, sturdy arms Robin cried unlike she’d ever cried in years. Sobbing for what, she wasn’t even sure. For the gratefulness, maybe, over the care and gentility and consideration and pleasure and fun she’d just received in his hands. For the profound difference of this to the last time she’d been under her husband. For the wrenching and confronting realisation that the only sex she’d ever known was a rippling reaction to that night at uni, and that this moment, ten years after the fact, was the first ever time she felt truly healed.

It’s so overwhelming to want and be wanted, to be safe, even as she felt the most exposed and vulnerable she’s ever felt since the worst moment of her life.

She pulled away, face damp with sweat, snot, and tears, heaving and trying to speak. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her face with her hands, wincing at the mild pain she felt when she ran her palm under her leaky nose. This can’t be attractive. It’s probably also alarming to have a woman you’d just had sex with suddenly crying her heart out. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” he whispered in a voice so tender it sounded to Robin as wholly new. He kissed her wet face, her wet mouth, and pressed her back against him and she cried some more.

Cormoran wasn’t sure what this was about, but he supposed he had some idea. But he was also now overcome with the burning desire not to fail her. He will be what she needed in this state, whatever it is.

“Can I—” she was hiccupping now. “Can I stay? I don’t want Max—”

“You were gonna go?” Cormoran asked, stunned and nearly indignant that Robin laughed and found that her face no longer ached at that. He wanted to tell her not to go, to stay, his mind short-circuiting imagining how Robin would be what’ll cheer this place up. But one thing at a time.

Cormoran held Robin to him until her sobs subsided to sniffling, the sky unbelievably only now going dark. The altercation at the American Bar seemed worlds away from this. She pulled away and he stared at her, cupping her tear-strewn face, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. He could still feel her trembling, and he pulled the duvet over their heads, ensconcing them in a space only they inhabit. Even in darkness Robin’s blue-gray eyes was striking, wet and over bright with the last of her unshed tears.

They kissed, soft and gentle and he thought of it like he does his favorite things: that he was glad they existed, that he had experienced them, and wished forevermore never to go without.

He wanted to say a lot of things to her just then but couldn’t come up with strings of words or sentences that distilled everything he felt, everything he thought Robin deserved to hear from him—except…

Strike had made a vow to himself four years previously, and he made very few vows because he trusted himself to keep them. Having only ever said those three words to one woman, he would not say it to another unless he knew, beyond reasonable doubt, that he wanted to stay with that woman and make a life with her.

And what is it Cormoran and Robin were building together with their partnership and their agency if not a life? A good, grand life that he sometimes still could not believe was his?

He had been afraid to name what he felt for Robin, because he knew full well what it was. Of course he loved her. Of course he did. “Robin, I—”

They were equally startled by thumping on Cormoran’s door. Emerging from under the duvet they sat up, looking at each other.

“Strike? Strike! Are you in?” yelled an exhilarated Barclay. “Robin’s a friggin genius!”

**Author's Note:**

> *shakes fists into the sky* Barclay!!!
> 
> I just have great love for this chapter that for all their profound soul-searchy thoughts and conversation, their minds were fully going to the bed upstairs. Horny dumdums.
> 
> PS this thing took me a MONTH to write lmao  
> PPS because i don't know how to smut really and i wanted to ~challenge myself  
> PPPS picking tags made me blush harder than writing the seks  
> PPPPS pls like this :(


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